


Not All Heroes Were of Old

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: Not All Stories [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Boromir has no idea what's going on, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 07:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Some aspects of the quest change. Others are written in stone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own LotR.
> 
> Happy birthday, MegMarch1880!

They were two days into their journey when Boromir finally found an acceptable moment to ask. “If I am not too bold, might I ask what quarrel lies between the elves and hobbits?” The council had never fully explained, but the obvious tension among the Fellowship could not be long ignored.

Kili’s eyes gleamed. “It has to do with the origins of hobbits,” he explained.

“Kili - “ Frodo said warningly.

Kili waved him off. “Bilbo explained it all to me on the way to Erebor,” he said cheerily. “You see, hobbits are related to lettuce.”

The whole Fellowship paused and turned to stare at Kili.

“Lettuce,” Boromir said flatly.

“A green leafy plant,” Kili said helpfully. “Do they not have it in Gondor? The elves are rather fond of it. Anyway, so when the elves found out, they tried to eat the hobbits, and the hobbits naturally objected, and the Rangers had to step in to protect the gardens.”

“The gardens being where they lived, I suppose.”

“No, it’s where we planted the baby hobbits so they could grow,” Pippin piped up.

Boromir was not unaware he was being made sport of. He let the matter drop.

But he felt some hope of getting an actual answer when one of the elves - Elrohir, maybe? - dropped back to walk beside him and said in a low voice. “Naturally, that’s all nonsense.”

“Of course,” Boromir agreed.

“As anyone who has seen a hobbit knows, they are obviously related to potatoes.”

 

He had hoped Gandalf might be a little more enlightening. 

Gandalf puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. “It does, I believe, have its roots in hobbit origins,” he said. “More than that is their own business to share.”

“Yes, and you really can’t blame Kili for not sharing it,” Merry said earnestly from behind him. Boromir jumped. “He’s sensitive about it because of Tauriel.”

Boromir was suspicious, but he’d go along for a bit longer. “Who?”

“The elf he’s been courting for the last few decades,” Frodo explained. Boromir jumped again. Hobbits were ridiculously quiet. “They can’t get permission to wed.”

“But if he did get permission, any children they had would be hobbits,” Merry said. “Dwarven height, elvish beardlessness - “

“Not all elves are beardless,” one of the twins called from across the camp.

“But most are,” Kili said. “Even elven women. Not that they can’t be beautiful without them,” he added hastily.

“Shouldn’t that be _especially_ their women?” Boromir said.

Kili grinned at him. “Obviously you haven’t met many dwarf women.”

 

“Shall we have a tale around the fire?” Aragorn suggested a few nights later.

“You should tell one of Mr. Bilbo’s tales, Master Frodo,” Sam suggested.

An unaccustomed light of mischief entered Frodo’s eyes. “What about the one about Mandos, then?”

“The Vala of the dead?” Elladan said, leaning forward. “I would hear this tale.”

“Long ago in the First Age, Mandos grew envious of Aule and Yavanna, who had been granted peoples of their own,” Frodo began solemnly. “So he shaped forms from clay until they fit his exacting standards, but he could not bring them to life. So he took the souls of the unknown from his Halls, those that would not be missed, and wiped their minds and placed them in their new vessels to go forth and capture more souls for him.” His voice had gone ever lower as he spoke, and suddenly the shadows seemed very close.

Then Frodo grinned. “Unfortunately, his people became very distracted by food and have been a terrible disappointment when it comes to collecting elvish souls for Mandos.”

The others burst out laughing. Boromir threw his hands up in the air.

“Enough!” he cried. “I repent of having asked.”

“But I had some good ones,” Pippin said in disappointment.

“Share them with me,” Kili said cheerfully. “Some of the Mirkwood elves have been poking about for years, and I’m starting to run out of ideas.”

 

They had opted to try and cross the Brown Lands as it was the most direct path to Mordor. That meant that they had now come to flat, sparse land. Any enemies should be painfully obvious.

But apparently they had missed something, because Frodo’s sword, which had come partly out of its sheath when he had fallen into the dry riverbed before them, was glowing a faint warning blue.

“Orcs!” he called, turning immediately to scan the dead lands around them for threats.

There was nothing.

The others had looked too, but when no threats were forthcoming, they looked to the hobbits, who had huddled protectively around Frodo while he scrambled to his feet. Kili had put himself in front of them, and Aragorn had done the same. The elves had stepped back, hands carefully away from their weapons.

Gandalf just leaned wearily on his staff. “I do not think the matter can be concealed any longer.”

“What matter?” Boromir demanded, eyes darting between them.

“That we’re soulless abominations,” Pippin said with an impressive level of forced cheer.

“I’m pretty sure Lobelia only meant _you_ , Pip, not the whole lot of us together, and that was only after she learned you’d stolen so many of her mushrooms.” Merry swallowed when he saw Boromir’s incredulous look. “Er, Frodo, why don’t you explain this bit?”

Frodo did.

Boromir laughed incredulously, sure that this must just be another tall tale.

No one else was laughing.

He stopped. “We’re trusting the One Ring of Power to servants of the Dark Vala?” he demanded.

Kili’s eyes flashed, but it was Sam who actually spoke.

“Now wait just a minute, Mr. Boromir, sir. We don’t have a pretty history, that I’ll admit, but we never bowed to no Dark Lord - No, not once. And even if someone way back in the family tree _had_ , I don’t see as how it should reflect on us, or why you’d have the right to condemn us if it did. Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. Bilbo did tell me a thing or two about Numenor and the Shadow there.”

“Well put, Sam,” Aragorn said. “We none of us can claim a perfect history for our peoples.”

“There is a difference between an ancient mistake and being created for the sole purpose of evil!”

“Come now,” Elladan said. “You’ve travelled with them for weeks now. Do you truly believed them to be doomed to darkness?”

“The enemy has sent fair servants before. The enemy has presented _himself_ as a fair servant before.”

“He did what?” Merry said. “I don’t remember hearing about that.”

“He disguised himself and deceived even the elves. Thus the rings were made.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with Sam at least,” Merry said. “He can’t lie to save his life.”

“Or a very fine set of mushrooms,” Pippin said with old bitterness.

“The enemy’s power lingers, but they are under no one’s control but their own,” Gandalf said firmly, and Boromir did not quite dare to contradict him.

 

The tension as they made camp that night was palpable. Elrohir tried to lighten it with a more innocuous topic. “Perhaps you can clarify a matter that has long puzzled us, Estel. The Rangers did not totally vanish from our view. There was one incident in particular when one rescued Arwen from some trouble only to get injured and need aid himself . . . “

“Yes, and then he vanished before he was quite well. She worried about him considerably.”

“He was fine,” Aragorn said stiffly.

“Might I inquire as to his name?” Elrohir pushed.

Aragorn hesitated. “Thorongil.”

“That’s odd,” Elladan said thoughtfully. “I could have sworn Gandalf mentioned that name as one of your aliases in a conversation not a week ago.”

“You talked to Arwen and not to us?” Elrohir demanded.

 _”You_ didn’t need assistance.”

“Obviously you didn’t see us at the very edge of Mordor, looking for your tortured corpse . . . And she never said anything!”

“She never met me as a child,” Aragorn pointed out. “I doubt she recognized me.”

“No, but we can still tease her about her poor mysterious Ranger,” Elladan said.

“Would you like to hear what she said about you?” Elrohir asked innocently.

“Is Aragorn blushing?” Pippin asked in a delighted whisper to Merry.

Merry grinned. “I do believe he is.”

 

The mirth faded quickly. The dry, dusty plains gave way to a nightmare maze of stone canyons that left them vulnerable to the brutal sun.

And to watchful eyes.

When the terror inducing cries of the Nazgul came, there was nowhere to hide.

The attack came at midnight when a heavy chill had replaced the baking heat. The chill air brought no relief, only a cold that drained strength and made carrying the metal ring nigh unbearable for whichever hobbit held it.

The fell cries of the Nazgul and their mounts didn’t help.

They’d lit no fire in the hopes of passing unspotted, but it was too late for that now. Kili went to start a fire, but there was no time for even dwarvish lighting. Gandalf shouted a word of command and set the little wood they had ablaze. His own staff lit up like a beacon.

On the first pass, it saved them. One the second, it made him a target.

“Go!” he shouted, and the Fellowship fled into the maze of shadows and stone.

But the Nazgul were not alone. Orcs had crept closer unnoticed, and soon nine of the ten were fighting their way through the press.

Gandalf was a distant light, ever more ringed with shadow.

 

In the dark, the Fellowship fractured, the whispers of the Ring helping none. Merry and Pippin found themselves alone in a narrow place, breathing hard and fighting against the clinging despair.

Hobbits had practice at that.

A large shape stumbled through the narrow opening. Pippin raised his small sword, but Merry stopped him.

“Boromir!” he called, relief clear. “Where are the others?”

Boromir looked up, and the expression on his face had Merry sliding in front of Pippin. They were alone, he realized, and if Boromir took out two possible servants of the enemy, who was to know?  
Boromir lunged. Merry cringed back, still shielding Pippin - 

And the sword bit into the goblin crawling down the rock behind them.

One of them, at least. “There’s dozens of them!” Pippin cried, and those were the last words any of them had breath for for a long while.

 

Elladan threw himself between a Nazgul and the hobbit frozen in its sights. “Go!” he shouted to Frodo as he used a burning branch to drive it back. The wood was almost gone; they would be lost when it was consumed. “Fly!”

The hobbits were small and hard to find. If he could but hold the wraith’s attention, perhaps they had a prayer.

 

Aragorn shoved Elrohir out of the way of the orc blade and counted it little when it scraped his own arm. His foster brother’s keen ears nonetheless caught his sharp exhalation, even in the middle of battle, and whirled furiously on the offending attacker. 

_Let dawn come soon,_ Aragorn prayed. _For the sake of all Middle Earth, hurry your flight, bright Arien, please._

 

Kili had lost the hobbits. He was supposed to protect them, and he had lost them.

He chased half heard cries through the canyons, killing all in his path as the sky greyed.

Then at last he stumbled on a dying Boromir. The hobbits were nowhere to be seen.

 

When dawn came, the enemy fled - or, at least, those that could. Not all the Nazgul would ride again, thanks to Gandalf.

But no more would the Grey Pilgrim wander, thanks to them.

Boromir was also lost, and Kili’s grim report of his last words said that at least some of the hobbits had been taken by orcs.

“It could be all of them,” he despaired. “Can you tell . . . ?”

“Not on stone,” Aragorn said grimly, and the elves offered no better. “Nor am I sure which held the Ring. They held that secret close as they passed it.”

“Then if our search here finds nothing, we must pursue,” Elladan said.

“If they got lost here, we might never find them,” Aragorn said grimly, but they had no choice.

They did what little they could for the dead and pursued.

 

Sam at last said what he was sure they were both thinking. “I don’t think anyone else is coming, Mr. Frodo.” Then, lest Mr. Frodo think it was just the Ring talking, he said, “Not meaning they’re dead, but mayhap they’ve gotten lost aways.”

The battled had taken them far. Frodo had led them always toward Mordor, since the others would have to come the same direction for the sake of the quest, but no one had come, and now he was not at all sure he could the way back.

If they were alone . . . He swallowed his grief and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Together, then.”

They walked on.


	2. Interlude

Gimli could still hardly believe that he’d been volunteered to go help the elves. His place was defending the mountain, not stomping under Mirkwood’s twisted trees to help the faithless elves.

But as his king had commanded, so it would be. He would just have to cherish standing strong in the mountain while he still could.

Although this latest development was making him even more reluctant to leave. A messenger from Mordor at the gates was nothing to sneeze at.

To shoot at, possibly, diplomatic immunity or no diplomatic immunity, but not to sneeze at. From the look on Thorin’s face, the king agreed with him.

“ . . . all this my master will give you if you but give word of what has become of the hobbits.”

Gimli was very glad that Bilbo, who was standing on the wall, was hidden back in the shadows of the door. Nonetheless, he slowly shuffled in front of him just to be safe. The guards under his command did the same.

“Hobbits?” Thorin said in a tone of perfect confusion, for all the world as if he did not have the vast majority of the world’s population of them living in his mountain.

“The Great Eye knows of your past dealings with one among them,” the messenger hissed.

“Ah, _hobbits,_ ” Thorin said as if comprehension had only just dawned. Behind Gimli, Bilbo muffled a snicker.

“Help the Great Eye, and you will be rewarded.”

Thorin leaned out over the top of the wall, so he could look the messenger dead in the eye. “I would rather kiss an elf.”

Then Thorin turned and walked away, ignoring the threats and warnings shouted after him.

“Well, that was reassuring, Bilbo said as he drew near. “Certainly more reassuring than it would have been coming from Kili, at least.”

“My nephews have not been kissing any elves,” Thorin growled, though there was more good humor there than there had once been.

“Fili hasn’t been, certainly. I rather think his intended might object.”

For his part as an old friend of both the princes, who had been called upon to cover for the younger one more than once, Gimli was rather sure that Kili had indeed been kissing one elf in particular for reasons that were beyond Gimli’s understanding. Talking to them was bad enough.

Still, far be it from him to betray his prince’s secrets, however mystifying they might be.

 

With threats from Mordor hanging over the mountain, Gimli was even more reluctant to leave, but go he must. Legolas travelled with the dwarvish company to guide them through the forest.

Considering that they were there to do the elves a favor, Gimli thought that Legolas’s comment about them otherwise “drawing every spider in the wood with their stomping footfalls” was in poor taste.

Certainly poor enough that it justified his response.

 

Gimli had travelled this road before, both on his first journey to Erebor and on expeditions since. He was not unaccustomed to the gloom, however much it might make him long for the honest dark of the mountain.

This surpassed that. The dim air had grown close and oppressive, and looking up at the thick webbing arching above them, Gimli was sure he knew why.

While the rest of the company stopped to eat, he pulled Legolas aside. “This is what you spoke of?” he asked, setting the quarrels of their journey so far aside.

Legolas’s expression was tight and unhappy. “It has worsened in my absence. I did not expect to see signs so soon.”

“That’s encouraging.” Gimli sighed. “Well, nothing forward but to go onward. The others know to be wary, but a reminder won’t hurt.” The lads had kept a watchful eye out while eating, even old Rundor who only had one to spare, but dwarves were used to threats that came charging head on or came from beneath. No harm in reminding them that here it would creep overhead.

Legolas inclined his head. “The spiders are stealthy,” he warned. “Even my own people sometimes fail to sense them.”

“Meaning we haven’t got a hope, is that it?” Gimli said sourly. “Yet you wanted dwarvish help, and help you shall get, if we have to burn the whole forest down to cleanse it.” He stomped over to the others.

They would not, of course, burn down the whole forest. He would not stoop to such folly for spite.

Still, he’d treasure the look on the elf’s face at the suggestion all the same.

 

Gimli was sure he heard skittering as night fell, but if aught lurked in the shadows, the fire kept it at bay. The herbs the elf had thrown into it had kept away the moths, although if the scent had been any stronger, it would have also driven away the dwarves. Gimli refused to believe Legolas was as unaffected as he appeared.

 

The shadows only grew deeper as they travelled. The skittering began to be heard even in the day.

Gimli was - and he couldn’t actually believe he was thinking this - eager to reach Thranduil’s halls.

So naturally, Legolas had to stop and examine something until Gimli’s patience ran out.

“What?” he demanded. The other dwarves were just as impatient behind him.

“Something was dragged off the path,” Legolas said. “Two somethings.” He looked up. “Scouts should have challenged us here.”

And yet none had.

It was plain as day what the elf intended, and if he got killed doing it, the blame would fall to the dwarves.

And no one deserved to be eaten by spiders.

Right, then.

“Hundin, you’re in charge. Keep heading for Thranduil. _Don’t leave the path._ ”

Hundin nodded sharply, but he looked confused. “Where will you be?”

“Leaving the path,” he said grimly.

Legolas looked startled.

“Well, are we or aren’t we, laddie?”

Legolas looked rather offended, but he nodded. “I would not turn down assistance.”

That was settled then.

It suddenly occurred to Gimli that one of the scouts might be Tauriel. He was abruptly hit with an additional need for haste.

Whatever his own feelings on the matter, he would _not_ be explaining that to Kili.


	3. Chapter 3

Stone eventually gave way to earth once more, at which point Kili couldn’t fail to notice the worried looks the more experienced trackers were shooting each other.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, bracing for the worst.

“If I have read the signs aright, they carry only two hobbits with them,” Aragorn said heavily.

“Then the others are still lost back in the canyons,” Kili said.

“Or gone to Mandos in truth,” Elladan said grimly. “Either way, they are beyond our reaching. We do not have the supplies to turn back now.”

 

The aftermath of a skirmish was hardly what they’d expected to find, but anything that thinned the ranks of the orcs was welcome.

What was more surprising was the turn the trail then took. Not toward Mordor, but towards Rohan. 

“Saruman,” Elrohir concluded. He tossed an orc helmet marked with a white hand down in disgust. “It seems we’ll have a chance to express our displeasure with him personally after all.”

“And all must not be well in that unholy alliance,” Elladan said with grim satisfaction.

“Yet I would no more let Saruman have the Ring than I would Sauron, and he will be little kinder to his guests. And added to these concerns, the Ring may now be headed the wrong way, costing time we do not have,” Aragorn said.

Kili knelt and picked up a small buckle of dwarvish make. “Merry wore this,” he said. His hand curled around it until the metal bit into his palm. “The others could have the Ring and be on their way there now.”

“They could,” Aragorn said.

None of them had much hope.

 

They reached the river that guarded the border of Rohan to find the aftermath of a battle, this time between the Rohirrim and orcs instead of a result of orcish squabbling.

The path made by four bare feet ran deep into the woods.

 

“I am Quickbeam, for I am ever a bit too . . . hasty.”

Hasty was not really the word Pippin would use, but he thought it probably better not to contradict such a very large talking tree.

“And who and what might you be? You are not orcs, I hope. I would . . . hate . . . to have been hasty again.”

Pippin was suddenly very glad that he and Merry had no elvish weapons with them, a sentiment he would not at all have expected a few hours ago. “Not orcs!” he said. “Hobbits! Just hobbits!”

_Now please don’t ask what hobbits are._

 

As relieved as he was to see Gandalf again, Aragorn felt he had to contradict him. “I am relieved to hear Merry and Pippin are safe, but we cannot leave the Ring’s fate unknown.”

“They do not have it,” Gandalf said. “The Ring’s fate lies with Sam and Frodo now.”

“They’re alive then?” Kili demanded.

Gandalf hesitated. “We must trust that they are.”

Elrohir sighed. “As encouraging as ever, Mithrandir.”

 

Their journey went on, first to Edoras and the on the long, dangerous journey to Helm’s Deep.

The lethally dangerous road.

Elrohir slammed his blade through the orc’s throat. Elladan was already peering over the edge of the cliff.

“Any sign?” Kili asked.

“None. The river below has washed away any trace.”

Elrohir’s shoulders hunched. “We just got him back.” The elf’s voice was heavy with grief.

Elladan was still examining the scene, judging the river’s depth and the scalability of the cliff. The results made him straighten.

“We haven’t lost him yet,” he said firmly. “Stay here and help the people to their stronghold. I’ll return with Estel as soon as I may.”

Then, with nothing more than the pack on his back, Elladan swung himself over the side of the cliff and began to climb down.

Kili gaped at him for a moment before turning to Elrohir. “How much hope is there?”

A flash of bleak humor went through the elf’s eyes. “About six feet.”

“Yes, because puns are exactly what we need right now,” he grumbled. “I do know some Sindarin, thank you.”

If they joked, then the situation wasn’t that serious. If it wasn’t serious, Aragorn would live.

 

The horse found him first. Elladan found the horse, and blessed whoever had failed to restrain him.

Aragorn was cold and still, but there was breath in him yet. Elladan took off his own cloak and wrapped it around him.

“Come on, little brother. Don’t leave me yet.”

 

Their triumphant return to the city did not go unmarked. “You made it!” Kili cheered.

“We did,” Aragorn said. “And in enough time to bring warning despite Elladan’s mothering.” He clapped a hand to Kili’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you made it as well.”

Elrohir walked forward, exchanging nods with his brother before locking eyes with Aragorn.

“Never again,” he said.

Aragorn inclined his head. “I will do my best.”

“At least it wasn’t for decades this time,” Kili said cheerily.

“You have a point,” Elrohir admitted. “But it was still too long.”

 

They survived Helm’s Deep and marched on to Isengard where at last they saw Merry and Pippin again. The hobbits flew down their mountain of loot to greet them. They flung themselves first at Kili, then at Aragorn, and then, after a moment’s pause, greeted the twins thus too. Elladan and Elrohir were delighted.

“But where are Frodo and Sam?” Pippin asked. Merry flinched in clear expectation of an unfavorable answer.

“Mordor,” Gandalf said as he rode up to them. “Or so we must hope.”

 

Camping outside the Paths of the Dead was not a comfortable proposition. Nor were the looks Aragorn kept shooting the mountain.

Elladan caught him examining his reforged sword in the moonlight.

“Ada brought it with us at what seemed a whim at the time,” Elladan said quietly. “Now it seems clear it was foresight. He always hoped he’d be able to give it to you.”

Aragorn turned the blade over in his hands. “When he gave it to me, he advised me to take the Paths of the Dead if the chance came.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose you’ll feel right at home there, twice dead as you’ve been. Elrohir and I will just have to do our best.”

Aragorn looked up sharply.

“We’re coming with you, of course,” Elrohir said as he stepped from the shadows. “Kili?”

Kili shook his head. “Someone has to stay here and keep Merry out of trouble.”

 

“Out of trouble,” Aragorn repeated wryly in the Houses of Healing. 

Kili shrugged, to all appearances unbothered by the blood trickling down his face. “I kept the Easterlings off him while he and Eowyn killed the Witch King.”

“No activity that involves the Witch King counts as ‘out of trouble,’” Elladan put in.

“Unless the activity is avoiding. Which is now rather unnecessary thanks to your combined efforts, so well done,” Elrohir said.

Elladan shot a flat look at his brother.

 

And then there was nothing more they could do but charge and hope that there were still hobbits living to need the distraction.

 

Deep in Mount Doom, there were.

 

Aragorn’s coronation was a lively affair enjoyed by all. That number included Elrond and a number of elves from Imladris, there to help with the healing and to escort the twins when they finally headed for home.

Arwen was among them.

“They’ve been dancing together a lot this evening,” Elladan said a bit uneasily.

Elrohir’s brow furrowed. “They _did_ only meet the once . . . right?”

 

Kili and the hobbits returned to the mountain and to a feast celebrating both their victory and the mountain’s.

Bilbo was overjoyed to see Frodo again even if his eyes were more haunted than before. Thorin was equally happy to see his own nephew.

“I’ve letters from all sorts of important people, but they can wait,” Kili said. “What’s the news from here?”

He was bombarded with stories from the battle before -

“And Gimli over here made friends with an elf, so you’re not _quite_ so weird anymore,” Fili said with a grin.

“Aye, I lead a company to victory in Mirkwood, spend a week in the woods with naught but Legolas to help fight the tide of beasts and things best left nameless, rescue a full dozen elves, and the king of Mirkwood himself, and _that’s_ the bit you focus on!” Gimli grumbled. “So I made friends with an elf. What of it?”

“They fight like they’ve been protecting each others’ back for decades,” Fili informed him. “It’s creepy.”

“Also,” Thorin said wryly, “King Thranduil has withdrawn his objection to you marrying one of his people. As I have long withdrawn my own, that leaves only the lady to be convinced. Congratulations.”

_”You could have led with that!”_

 

Late in the night, Bilbo and Thorin were settled into the armchairs around the fire in Bilbo’s rooms. Bilbo sat close to warm him old bones.

“Frodo’s not well, poor lad,” he sighed. “It was a lot to ask of one little hobbit.”

“Hobbits are stronger than they look,” Thorin said firmly. “He’ll recover.”

“I do hope so.” Bilbo puffed his pipe thoughtfully. “And if he doesn’t, there’s always the offer.”

Thorin frowned. “The offer?”

“Gandalf sent word,” Bilbo explained. “He’ll be sailing in a few years, apparently, once things settle down. He’s offered . . . Well, he’s offered to take any ringbearers who wish to with him.”

“Do you wish to?” Thorin asked carefully.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it is nice, very nice indeed, to be asked. To be permitted to sail West! Ha! We are truly free of him now. It is nice to know that we are not as hopelessly forgotten as we thought. And who knows? If Tauriel catches the sea longing, a dwarf might sail as well. Gandalf hinted that it could be done.”

“Not forgotten after all,” Thorin said softly. “Aye. There’s worth in that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I finished it at last!


End file.
